


Hold On, My Darling

by Meghan Page (mutter11)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Gun Violence, IT'S ONLY NEAR DEATH THOUGH, Near Death Experiences, basically everyone is gay and sappy and no one dies i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:59:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6219181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutter11/pseuds/Meghan%20Page
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My rewrite of the ending of 3x07, with 100% less death</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold On, My Darling

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Mess is Mine by Vance Joy
> 
> I felt the need to fix the mess Jrot made of Lexa's death, so here's my take. I hope it makes some of you feel at least a little better.

Clarke pushed through the door to her room, her mind still back in Lexa’s, with the girl’s sweet smile, with her soft moans and silky thighs. That was why it took her a few steps to realize she wasn’t alone.

She froze as she saw the figure slumped in the chair beside her bed, his drooping head propped against the frame of the chair. But as she took in his bound hands and orange gag, she recognized the face beneath the blood and bruises and ran to his side, calling his name.

“Murphy?”

Her hands scrabbled at his bonds until a deep voice rang out behind her.

“He’s alive.”

Clarke whirled to find Titus emerging from the shadows in the corner of the room. Her eyes narrowed as she asked lowly, “What did you do to my friend?”

Titus approached a few steps, his hands behind his back. “You’re friend was caught stealing from people on their way to the Polis market.”

Clarke didn’t give a shit what Murphy was doing; she had asked about Titus's actions. She was about to tell the man this when Murphy shifted and groaned in front of her, slowly coming to.

“Hey. Hey, you’re okay,” Clarke murmured, lifting Murphy’s head and reaching around to untie his gag.

“Please don’t do that,” Titus warned, freezing Clarke’s hands in place. Slowly, he revealed the pistol he had been hiding behind his back, holding it in the light so Clarke could see. Clarke quickly got to her feet, her hands in the air.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Clarke,” he said as he walked even closer. “Truly I am.”

Clarke backed behind Murphy’s chair, shaking her head. “I’m leaving. Right now,” she tried to assure him. “Octavia’s waiting for me. Just let me take Murphy and we’ll go.”

“I wish I could,” Titus said. “Lexa will never execute her duty while you live.” His voice grew hoarse as he lifted the gun to aim at her head.

Clarke heart skittered into overdrive. “Titus, think,” she attempted to reason. “She’s gonna know it was you.”

“She’ll think it was him.” Titus gestured with the gun towards Murphy. “Skaikru weapon in the hands of a Skaikru thief. She might even be angry enough to declare war!” He roared his last words as he pulled the trigger, narrowly missing Clarke as the bullet pinged off the bedframe.

Clarke dove to the right, taking cover behind the bed as another bullet shattered a vase above her. Thinking quickly, she grabbed a small wooden chair and threw it at Titus’s head, knocking him to the floor as she made a break for the exit.

 

Lexa immediately felt the loss of Clarke’s warmth as the door closed behind her. She knew the coming days, with Clarke on one side of the blockade and she on the other, would be trying. But she understood Clarke’s commitment to her people. If there were even a whisper of hope she could make the Sky People see reason, Clarke would fight for it. Lexa could no more change her mind than she could deny the feelings that had finally come to fruition between them.

Lexa could still hardly believe that she and Clarke had lain together, that Clarke had touched her so softly with her hands and mouth, that Clarke had _returned her feelings_. There was much distance to travel before the possibility of them being together was even a consideration.

But “maybe someday” had already lit a flame, a tiny spark of hope burning close to her heart.

She had planned to give Clarke a few minutes to gather her things before she escorted her from Polis. But, with her departure so imminent, Lexa found herself longing to be with the other girl for as long as possible.

Reasoning with herself that Clarke would not mind her presence while she packed, Lexa exited her room, gesturing for her guards to follow. She strode through the halls towards Clarke’s room quickly, only pulling up when she heard a strange noise coming from behind the closed doors. It was a series of loud bangs, a sound she had only heard once – coming from the _fayogons_ at _Maun-de_.

Panic flared through her, filling her mind with only one thought: _Clarke was in danger_.

She took off, paying no mind to her guards’ feet thundering behind her, forgetting that she had no weapon or armor, her only thought to get to Clarke.

As the reached the room, she heard the crash of splintering wood, the pounding of running feet – and as she threw open the door, the echo of a gunshot.

 

“Lexa!”

Lexa stumbled back, her eyes wide, feeling like she had just been punched in the gut by a metal fist.

The world seemed to come to a halt, Lexa’s guards freezing just behind her as Clarke stared at her in horror. Her eyes flicked to Lexa’s stomach, where her trembling hand attempted to cover a round wound leaking black blood.

Titus let the gun clatter to the ground, reaching out with a strangled, “Heda!”

Lexa followed Clarke’s gaze, staring at her stomach as if surprised to find a hole in it. She looked back up at Clarke, her eyes all whites, her breath catching in her throat. Then she collapsed, Clarke reaching out to slow her fall.

Suddenly everything sprang back into motion. The guards crashed into the room, one dropping to his knees beside Clarke as the other seized Titus from where he was crawling towards Lexa.

“No- No,” Clarke breathed, her hands flying frantically over Lexa’s prone form. Turning to the guard, she cried, “Help me, get her to the bed!”

The guard immediately scooped Lexa up in his arms, carrying her over to Clarke’s bed and laying her on top of the white furs.

“What have I done?” Titus moaned from his grip in the other guard’s hands.

Clarke rounded on him, flinging a finger towards the door. “ _Get him out of here!_ ” she howled.

Wrenching his arms behind his back, the guard hustled Titus from the room, the traitor going with no resistance.

Clarke spun back to Lexa, her hands immediately putting pressure on her wound. “I need something to stop the bleeding!” she told the remaining guard, and he whirled away to find a cloth to staunch the wound.

“You’re gonna be okay, just lie still, okay, lie still!” she ordered Lexa, unable to keep the frantic fear from her voice as the girl writhed under her hands.

Lexa’s hands joined Clarke’s over the wound as she made a concerted effort to focus on her face. “Don’t be afraid,” she said weakly, her breath shuddering with pain.

Clarke felt her heart bottom out. Lexa couldn’t be giving up. She _couldn’t_.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said, doing her best to swallow down her terror. “Stay still.”

The guard returned to her side, setting down a bowl holding a cloth submerged in water. Clarke took hold of Lexa’s shirt, ripping the blood-soaked material up to her sternum, pushing it aside to give her access to the wound. She squeezed the cloth out over Lexa’s stomach, washing away the smeared blood, staining her fingers black.

She pressed the balled-up cloth to the hole just over her bellybutton, drawing a groan of pain from Lexa.

“Stay with me,” Clarke said, leaning close over her. “Lexa.”

The girl whimpered, her chest heaving with hitching breaths, but dragged her eyes to meet Clarke’s.

“Stay with me,” Clarke breathed.

Though her eyes were clouded with pain, Clarke saw Lexa’s gaze steady on her own. Lexa’s brought her hand up to clutch Clarke’s wrist, and her grip was as strong as Clarke had ever felt it.

A tiny, stoic nod had tears springing to Clarke’s eyes. She let out a shuddering sob, pressing her forehead to Lexa’s, then pushed her emotions aside. If Lexa was going to fight for her life, she had to do the same.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she turned to the guard. “I need you to untie that prisoner,” she told him, nodding towards Murphy.

The guard made to protest, but she vigorously shook her head. “We need him. _Heda gaf in fisa_ , so I need him to help me here while you go get one.”

The guard glanced between his _Heda_ and the bloody, beaten boy tied to the chair, but eventually nodded his head and moved to release him. He unsheathed his knife, causing Murphy to flinch away, but only used it to quickly saw away the ropes binding him to the chair. As soon as they fell away, Murphy sprang upright, ripping the gag from his mouth.

The guard gave Murphy and Clarke nods, cast a lingering look at Lexa, then marched swiftly from the room.

Murphy rubbed at his wrists, then untied the gag from around his neck. “Thanks for finally remembering me,” he muttered.

Clarke fixed him with a glare. “I don’t have time for this.” She gestured him to the other side of the bed. “We need to check if the wound is a through-and-through.”

Letting go of the compress with one hand, she crouched next to Lexa’s head and placed gentle fingers on the side of her face. “Lexa, we have to turn you on your side, okay?”

Lexa scrunched her eyes closed but nodded, squeezing Clarke’s wrist even tighter.

Clarke looked back up to Murphy, who was shifting uneasily by the bedside. “I need you to push while I pull.”

Murphy gulped but nodded, placing his hands along Lexa’s side. Clarke moved her free hand to join his.

“Lexa, I need you to help me put pressure on your wound while we turn you.”

Lexa let go of her wrist, sliding her hand over Clarke’s and pressing down.

“Good,” Clarke told her. “We’re turning you on three.” She caught Murphy’s eye, who gave her a nod. “Ready? One, two, three.”

They moved together, rolling Lexa so she lay on her side. The girl let out a ragged gasp, her fingers clenching around Clarke’s.

“I know it hurts, Lexa, you’re doing great,” she soothed, her thumb rubbing circles on Lexa’s side.

Standing up, she shifted her attention back to Murphy. “How’s it look back there?”

“Is her blood black?” Murphy asked, sounding disgusted but intrigued at the same time.

“Yes,” Clarke snapped. “I’ll explain later.”

Murphy’s hands hovered over Lexa’s back. “Okay, well there’s a lot of it.”

Clarke swallowed heavily, struggling to keep herself calm. “Can you see an exit wound? Pull back her shirt so you can see her back.”

Murphy complied, peeling away the rest of her shirt. He sucked in a sharp breath as the skin was revealed. “Yeah, there’s definitely an exit wound.”

Clarke let out a breath as she nodded. “Okay, that’s good, that means the bullet isn’t still inside her. Is it large?”

“Uh, define large,” Murphy said.

Clarke sighed. “We need to switch places.” She gestured with her head for him to come around the bed. “I’ll hold her while you come around here.”

As Murphy let go and circled the end of the bed, Clarke leaned down to press her temple against Lexa’s. “Hold on, Lexa,” she murmured. “Just hold on.”

Lexa let out a shaky breath and gave an infinitesimal nod, her free hand reaching out to pluck at Clarke’s shirt.

Clarke felt Murphy come up behind her and straightened, stepping back to allow him to take her place. “Keep pressure on it,” she told him, guiding his hand over the compress.

“I’m just going to look at your back now,” she told Lexa, letting her hand linger on her side before stepping around the bed. “I’ll be right here.”

Clarke immediately crouched down to get a better look at the wound. Black blood obscured most of Lexa’s back, so she grabbed the bicep of her sleeve and yanked, tearing it off at the shoulder seam and sliding it off her arm. Dipping it in the bowl of water, she used it to clean off the blood to get a clearer look.

The exit wound was higher up than the entry, its oblong shape nearer to the base of her ribcage. Clarke supposed the angle of Titus’s shot was the cause, having been fired from the floor.

She quickly wadded up the sleeve and pressed it against the wound on Lexa’s back, stopping the blood that was still leaking from the wound. Lexa let out a series of strangled whimpers.

Clarke grasped her side again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’re almost there. Just stay with me.”

Lexa groped for Clarke’s hand, taking it and lacing their fingers together. She tried to squeeze it, her grip weaker than before as her breathing started to become more labored.

“Where’s that goddamn healer?” Clarke growled, realizing that Lexa was starting to flag. She clutched Lexa’s hand all the harder in response.

Murphy looked between her and the door, his eyebrows scrunched in anxiety. “Do you want me to go check? I can see where that guard went…” he asked, already half turned to go.

“ _No_ ,” Clarke barked, startling him back into place. “You have to keep pressure on her wound. She’s lost enough blood already.”

They sat in tense silence, ears trained towards the door for any sounds of approach. Clarke let go of her compress with one hand, laying her fingers along Lexa’s neck to measure her pulse.

Finally, they heard the clatter of running footsteps, and the doors burst open to reveal the guard, now one of four carrying a cloth stretcher, followed closely by a woman who Clarke assumed was the healer.

She hurried over to the bedside, placing a bag of supplies next to Lexa’s legs.

“ _Ai laik Gita, fisa-de_ ,” she said as she moved Murphy to the side, confirming Clarke’s suspicions.

“Gita,” Clarke greeted, never more relieved to see someone in her entire life. “ _Yu get in Gonasleng?_ ”

“Yes,” Gita said, switching over to English, her accent thick. “Tell me what you have done so far.”

“We cleaned her up as much as we could and applied pressure to stop the bleeding,” Clarke reported. “She still lost a lot of blood, though; her breathing is labored and her pulse is weak.”

Gita nodded, pulling a small tin and roll of linen bandages from her bag. Laying out two lengths of cloth, she sprinkled powder from the tin onto them, then handed one bundle to Clarke.

“Pack this in  _Heda_ ’s wound,” Gita instructed, already doing so to Lexa’s stomach. “It will stop the bleeding.”

Carefully, Clarke peeled away the sodden sleeve and replaced it with the bandage, packing it into the wound then reapplying pressure.

“Now,” Gita said, meeting Clarke’s eyes over Lexa’s side. “We must sit _Heda_ up to wrap the bandages.”

Clarke almost protested, remembering how much it hurt Lexa when they rolled her onto her side, but quickly realized there was no other way to secure the packed bandages. With a hard swallow, she nodded.

Gita gave a sharp nod back. “Come onto the bed, and _Heda_ will lean against you.”

Clarke quickly obeyed, climbing onto the bed as gently as possible to avoid jostling Lexa. She placed a soft hand at her hip, rubbing lightly to let Lexa know she was there, all the while keeping the bandage pressed to her back. Gita had bent her head close to Lexa’s and was murmuring softly to her.

Getting to her feet, Gita jerked her head towards Murphy. “You, help me get _Heda_ up.”

Murphy jumped forward again, sliding his hands under Lexa’s shoulders with Gita’s.

“ _Won, tu, thri,_ ” she counted, and together they pulled Lexa into a seated position.

Lexa let out a cry, screwing her eyes closed, and Clarke quickly pulled her to her chest.

“ _Ste yuj,_ ” she whispered as Lexa buried her face in her neck, smoothing Lexa’s hair. “ _Ste kamp raun hir_.”

She watched as Gita quickly wrapped more bandages around Lexa’s torso, guiding her when she moved to secure the packed bandage at Lexa’s back.

When she was done, Gita carefully tucked the end of the bandage in and stepped back. Motioning the waiting guards forward, she said, “Now _Heda_ must come to the sick room.”

Clarke climbed off the bed as the men laid the stretcher behind Lexa. One supported her shoulders as the other lifted her hips over the wooden bar, the shift drawing another strangled whine from her lips.

Clarke stood frozen as they carried Lexa swiftly from the room, watching her prone form disappear into the hall. Gita paused in the doorway, looking back at her over her shoulder.

“ _Mochof, Wanheda_ ,” she said, inclining her head. “You may have just saved _Heda_ ’s life.”

Clarke dipped her head in response, turning away from the door.

As she did, her gaze caught on the white furs of her bed, now stained midnight black with Lexa’s blood. She barely registered the door closing behind her, or Murphy coming up next to her until he lightly touched her wrist.

“Clarke?” he questioned, drawing her out of the daze she had sunk into. “This is a fucking stupid question but, are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah, I…” she tore her eyes away from her bed with a shake of her head. She looked up at him, their gazes locking. “Thank you, Murphy. Seriously. I… You were a huge help today.”

The tips of Murphy’s ears turned pink. He scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching. “See, I’m not a total waste of space.”

“No,” Clarke agreed, eyeing him with a hint of amusement. “I guess you’re not.”

After a brief moment he straightened again, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “So… what do I do now?”

Clarke frowned when she thought about all that he must have gone through to end up tied to a chair in her room, bloody and beaten.

“Get out of here,” she told him. “Go back to wherever you’ve been hiding out. Or go to Arkadia, I’m sure they’d take you back in. Just steer clear of that blockade, and, for the love of god,” she said, clasping his bicep, “don’t die.”

Murphy nodded seriously. He took Clarke’s hand from his arm, patting it once before letting it fall. “I think I’ll be off, then. Want to be out of this shit hole before sundown.”

He looked at Clarke for a minute, his expression softening. “You should go be with your girl.”

Clarke looked at him in surprise, her mouth half open. But any protest she may have given melted away when she saw the small but warm smile he was giving her.

She let out a long, shuddering breath, doing her best to return it with a watery smile of her own. “Yeah. Thanks again, Murphy.”

“Anything to keep from being framed for murder,” he said, sweeping his arms wide in a mock bow. He started towards the hall, but stopped in the doorway, turned back towards Clarke. “Watch yourself in here, yeah?”

Clarke nodded, giving him another smile. “Yeah. You too.”

Murphy just gave a sniff, pulling his jacket tighter around him, and moved away down the hall.

Clarke stayed where she was for a moment, her eyes closed as she gathered strength for what was to come. Then she followed him from the room, asking the first person she came across for directions to the healing rooms.

 

There was unrest throughout Polis, the streets filled with uneasy Grounders waiting for the fate of their _Heda_ to be determined.

Despite the turmoil outside, the sick room remained quiet and closed off. And even still, the last three days had been some of the worst of Clarke’s life. Just after Lexa had been carried from Clarke’s room, she had fallen unconscious. Though Gita had cleaned and sutured her wounds, and Clarke herself could see she was beginning to heal well, she still had not woken.

Throughout the days, Clarke never strayed far from Lexa’s side, offering advice where she could and trusting the healers’ judgments where she couldn’t. She kept her chair pulled up close to Lexa’s head, her hands always near or on the other girl, clasping her hand, tracing her tattoos, carding through her hair. She would spend hours just staring at Lexa’s face, constantly regretting the time she had wasted denying her feelings and hoping against hope for more time, to be together and show Lexa just how much she felt for her. At night she fell asleep slumped against Lexa’s bed, their fingers intertwined, until Gita roused her and cajoled her onto her own cot.

Those first days, there was another constant presence by Lexa’s bedside: a young man, dressed in drab robes similar to Titus’s, perpetually seated in the corner of her sick room, a small rectangular tin in his hands. Clarke didn’t know what the tin held, but she knew from the way the man’s dark eyes watched Lexa’s inert form that she didn’t want him anywhere near the girl.

It was midmorning on the fourth day, and Clarke had just finished eating her small breakfast and was busy feeding Lexa hers. Slowly and carefully, she dripped spoonfuls of thin broth into Lexa’s mouth, watching her throat work automatically as she swallowed.

Once she had finished the bowl, she placed her fingers against Lexa’s neck, feeling her pulse beat fast and strong.

“Lexa?” she called softly, trying as she did every day to get through to the girl. “Lexa, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

As in the past three days, there was no response. Clarke let out a heavy sigh, resting her forehead against Lexa’s temple. She could feel tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes and blinked rapidly to force them back.

“Please wake up, Lexa,” she whispered, pressing her nose into Lexa’s hair. “I miss you. I miss your voice. I miss your eyes. Please,” she pleaded, her voice cracking on the last word.

She nuzzled further into Lexa’s hair, taking deep, calming breaths of Lexa’s scent. Her breathing had just evened out again when she heard the ghost of a whisper in her ear.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Clarke jerked upright, her mouth falling open as she met the green eyes in front of her.

Eyes that, after three days of waiting, were finally open.

“Hello, Clarke,” Lexa croaked, her voice hoarse from disuse, a mischievous smile crossing her lips as she took in Clarke’s gap-mouthed look of shock.

“Lexa,” Clarke breathed. “You…”

Unable to finish her sentence, she crashed their lips together, pouring all her grief and fear and hope into the kiss. When she finally pulled away, they both were breathing hard.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke apologized, her cheeks growing pink. “You just woke up, I should have waited…”

“Clarke,” Lexa said, shaking her head slightly, a smile on her lips. She took Clarke’s hand, threading their fingers together.

After a moment of silence, she asked, “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Three days,” Clarke told her.

Lexa’s brows drew together, forming a crease between them. “I see. I understand your worry, then.”

Clarke felt her heart expand as she gazed down at Lexa, her chest filled with an indescribable joy at having her back. To think that she had almost lost the girl when she had barely begun to have her in the first place…

“Lexa?” Clarke said, calling Lexa’s attention back to her. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Lexa nodded seriously as Clarke swallowed her nerves, clutching Lexa’s hand between both of her own. “I love you. I’m sorry I never told you, and that you felt like you couldn’t tell me. But I do. I love you.”

Lexa’s lips had parted slightly, and she was staring at Clarke with so much awe it nearly hurt. “Clarke…” she breathed.

With her free hand, she wove her fingers into Clarke’s hair, pulling her down until their lips met. The kiss was long and slow, filled with all the tenderness each of them could muster.

When they pulled back, both of their cheeks were wet.

Lexa smiled at Clarke, the sight so sweet and tender that Clarke’s heart nearly burst. “ _Ai hod yu in seintaim_ ,” she whispered, placing her hand over Clarke’s heart, at last certain she had found a place in it.

**Author's Note:**

>  _fayogons_ \- guns  
>  _Maun-de_ \- the Mountain/Mount Weather  
>  _Heda gaf in fisa_ \- The Commander needs a healer  
>  _Ai laik Gita, fisa-de_ \- I am Gita, the healer  
>  _Yu get in Gonasleng?_ \- Do you know English?  
>  _Won, tu, thri_ \- One, two, three  
>  _Ste yuj. Ste kamp raun hir_ \- Be strong. Stay here  
>  _Mochof_ \- Thank you  
>  _Ai hod yu in seintaim_ \- I love you too
> 
> My medical knowledge is very limited, so I apologize if anything seems improbable.  
> The bandages and powder that stops Lexa's bleeding are based on a real thing called styptic powder which is used as an antihemorrhagic and bandages called QuickClot that are used by the military for emergency treatment of trauma in combat. I hope this doesn't need to be said, but please don't try this stuff at home.
> 
> Murphy, I apologize for all the time I spent thinking you were an irredeemable douchenozzle. You have proven me wrong. You’re a true bro.


End file.
